


Red in Tooth and Claw

by Argyle



Category: Dracula & Related Fandoms, Dracula (TV 2020)
Genre: 5 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animal Transformation, Biting, Blood, M/M, Oral Sex, Vampire Sex, Vampire Turning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:55:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24476830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Argyle/pseuds/Argyle
Summary: Four times Dracula bites Jonathan—and one time Jonathan bites back.
Relationships: Dracula/Jonathan Harker
Comments: 12
Kudos: 232





	Red in Tooth and Claw

Dracula scents the young English lawyer well before his carriage crests the Borgo Pass—before he sees the clean, if austere, cut of his clothes, the ginger hair which here and there peeks out from under his hat, the pale curve of his cheek, the flush of his lips—

Such blue eyes. Such a sure, pure pulse, though of course he is frightened. Alone. Aware of the old superstitions. Nervous at the lateness of the hour, the accumulating snow which will perhaps render the road unnavigable by morning.

Dracula breathes deep of him, picking out the dust and grime and musk and sweat.

And beneath, the blood. Sweeter than wine.

Sweeter than anything he's tasted in a century or more, he later confirms. The whole length of his ancient, aged body is pressed against him, pinning him to the bed, and he leans in for another long, intoxicating pull. Another mouthful.

Dracula has delved deep to conjure the image of a woman, ripe and fresh as a sun-warmed stone fruit. Mina, who looms over her betrothed and lets out a breathy laugh. And a name: _Johnny._

And so too Dracula repeats it back, his lips dyed red: "Johnny. My Johnny."

*

Damned if Dracula hasn't grown _fond_ of Johnny. It hasn’t been a month since he arrived, but his curiosity – his wonderfully determined _imagination_ – has charmed Dracula in a way he scarcely thought possible, and only now, leveraging Johnny's own stolen tongue, can adequately name.

But more's the pity: Johnny isn't long for this world.

It's Dracula's fault. Of course it is. He’s been utterly unable to resist the lure of Johnny's blood; has in fact not even given the boy a night off.

And Johnny is disintegrating.

His eyes are bloodshot and fever bright. His body is rotting, bloated and sallow.

Bound for a sealed box in the castle crypt.

Dracula is patient when he refuses the supper he's prepared him, content to soothe with soft words and caresses, take him in his arms and drag him back beneath the shroud of dreams.

Lean in to sink his teeth into that ruddy, raw juncture—

Taste—

The flavor much darker now, thick and odiferous and metallic, like tilled earth.

Dracula no longer appears to him as Mina. It simply isn't necessary. Not when Johnny caves to his touch, rubs against him and groans, accepting this most intimate of intrusions.

Wanting it.

*

The river is full, snow-banked and icy cold—but the thick black hair of Dracula's wolfskin protects him from all manner of elemental torments.

By necessity, he and his minions wait until sundown before they track ten miles from the castle gates. The gibbous moon gleams overhead. But even with his heightened senses, it's no small effort to pick out Johnny's bloodless, undead scent against the woody loam.

And then: yes, a broken, incongruent shape among the rushes. An arm, a torso.

A shiver trills through him, raising his hackles.

 _Johnny_.

Dracula lifts his huge wolfen head and howls: _he_ will be the one to retrieve the body. His pack stands down, content to pace on the riverbank.

He paddles out to the quagmire of rocks, ice, and fallen brush which have dammed the flow – and deftly kept Johnny from further transport – and gets his jaws around his bride's right calf. None too gently, he pulls him back towards the shore—perhaps overzealously ripping the putrid muscle and sinew—

But then again, Johnny will heal. Through Dracula's ministrations, he'll be _whole_ once more.

Johnny's eyes don't open for three days.

And when they do: pain. Anger. And deep, endless hunger.

*

Dracula's never possessed a bride quite like his Johnny.

As predicted, the lad has retained so many of the qualities which first attracted Dracula to him—his absurdly stubborn spirit chief among them.

But so too his edges have been filed deliciously sharp. Dracula, upon blindsiding Johnny with some particularly cruel remark, or goading him into a row, or sex – or both – can expect to get a proper swipe in return.

He has, Dracula is proud to observe, become _monstrous_ in his own way.

Dracula delights in this fact. In the way the fight continues when Dracula gets him against a wall. In the way his clawed fingers drag through Dracula's hair when Dracula drops to his knees and dispatches with his flies.

In the unhinged sounds he makes when Dracula takes his cock in his mouth and swallows him down to the root.

In the way he pleads for more, always more, when Dracula at last pulls off and buries his fangs in the cool, clean flesh of his groin, straight into the femoral artery—

And in the way his blood whispers so sweetly: _Dracula is the night that never ends. Dracula is my master. Dracula will be obeyed._

*

"Check mate," says Johnny.

Dracula looks down at the chessboard, certain that there must be some mistake—But then again, no: in all their dozens – hundreds – of games, his bride has at last got the best of him. "Ah," he says, after a long moment. "Well done."

"I hope you haven't forgotten the conditions of our wager."

"Mm." Dracula arches a brow. "A boon."

And what will it be? What will Johnny demand of him?

Some luxury, perhaps. Some freedom.

And then: "I want," Johnny says in a clear, steady voice, at once meeting Dracula's eye, "to taste you."

Dracula lets out a little laugh. "You what?"

"You heard me."

Yes. Of course he has, and so too feels the lurch in his guts as strongly as the frisson of excitement that skirts up his spine. So: "Come here."

Johnny slides onto the settee beside him, his eyes flooded red; his breath – an irregular artifact of his humanity – a cool puff against Dracula's throat.

Then Johnny pierces his flesh. Bites and pulls and _moans_ , wonderfully lascivious.

After, Dracula suppresses a shudder. "Well?"

Johnny dashes his tongue across his teeth.

Swallows Dracula down like the apex predator he is—

And smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Alfred, Lord Tennyson.


End file.
